The Hive (3 page)

She came back to her desk and leaned against it, so that she was close to the other woman.

‘This is a lonely job, you know, Sister. One can’t—talk—as much as one would like to one’s staff. But I think I can talk to you. I need, of course, to be sure that any discussion we may have about some of our problems will be personal to us?’

‘I take my meals in the school with the students in block, Matron. Quite apart from my lack of inclination to chatter, I’ve little opportunity.’ Sister Tutor was a little chilly.

Miss Manton smiled. ‘Thank you for your assurance, Sister. Well, then, I would like your opinion about something I have in mind. You may know that I’m a trained psychiatric nurse, among other things. I have some experience of psychology on a practical level.’

‘Yes, Matron.’

‘There’s a technique we used in my last hospital that had a profound effect on the staff, and on their approach to their work. As a result of it, nurses were much better able to help their patients, and it had an extremely useful side effect——’

‘A technique?’

‘Group therapy. We held weekly discussions among the senior staff—the sisters—during which we talked in some depth about our needs, our motives, our approach to our patients and our colleagues. And, one effect of this was to make the sisters much more sympathetic towards the needs of the young students. We had less wastage—and our recruitment undoubtedly rose.’

‘People talk——’

‘Exactly. People talked outside the hospital. Girls told their friends how pleasant it was to work there, that the sisters weren’t battle axes, that we were understanding about their needs for a private life, that we were approachable, and so on.’

‘I know about this, of course. There have been reports in the journals. It sounds to me like a very useful idea.’

‘Would it work here?’

‘Here? At the Royal?’

‘Yes.’

There was a long pause. Then Sister Tutor pursed her lips doubtfully.

‘As I said, I don’t know the sisters quite as well as I might. They—well, apart from my being married and living out of residence in consequence, they think I’ve a cushy number.’ She looked indignant for a moment. ‘Sometimes you’d think I did nothing but sit and read for my own pleasure all day, to listen to them.’

‘But you know them better than I do, all the same. And if I am going to start this, I think it would be better to start at once while everyone is on edge, waiting for the new broom to
sweep around, than try to push it through when I’ve been here a few months and they’re used to me. While I’m still an unknown quantity, people will be less likely to oppose me just for the sake of it. They might well do so later, when they think they’ve got my measure.’

Sister Tutor chuckled suddenly. ‘You
have
got your psychology taped, Matron.’

‘I need it, Sister.’

‘Put like that,
I think
you could start here. As I say, I don’t know them all that well—but—er—if I might offer one suggestion——’

‘Please do.’

‘I would make it a voluntary thing. If they feel they’re being forced they might oppose automatically. Certainly one or two would.’

‘Who?’

‘Oh, please, Matron, I’d much rather not——’

‘Come, Sister! We’re talking in confidence.’

‘Well, I don’t like tattling——’

‘It’s hardly that. Simply your advice.’

‘Sister East, then, for one. Certainly Sister East.’

‘Sister East. Casualty. She—applied for my post, didn’t she?’

Sister Tutor nodded, embarrassed. ‘I should—I expect she feels rather—sore about it. She trained here, you see. Gold Medallist. She was hurt, I imagine, by your appointment. Anyone would be.’

‘Has she much of a following among the others?’

‘Not very much. She’s a bit sharp tongued. But they know her, you see, and for all her faults—well, there may be a kind of inverted loyalty.’

‘Then I accept your advice, Sister. I
will
start the therapy, but it will be a voluntary thing. It will depend on how I word my invitation, I think. I must think about that very carefully.’

‘Yes, Matron.’ Sister Tutor stood up, and collected her file from the desk. ‘Er—there’s just one other thing. If you particularly want me to, I’ll join in myself. But I’m not sure that—well, I’d be much use to you. It’s this marriage thing, you see. I’m non-resident—a bit of an outsider. I can’t imagine people
talking as freely as they might if I’m there. And that’s what you want, isn’t it?’

‘That’s what I want. Yes, Sister, I see what you mean. Very well. If there is any question about your absence, no doubt I can find a convincing reason for it. If I’m careful, it shouldn’t come up. Thank you for your help, Sister. I’m most grateful for it.’

And Sister Tutor went away, leaving Miss Manton, thinking carefully about her plans for group therapy for the sisters while she tidied her hair and face, ready for her meeting with the consultants.

The Royal was rather proud of the Board Room. It was a relic of the days fifty years before when the Royal had been a more important hospital than it now was, when the consultant staff had included two peers of the realm, men who were doctors to the royal family themselves.

In those days, when doctors had been real autocrats and when the matron had been someone who had been trained by a pupil of Miss Nightingale, a living embodiment of the Best of British Nursing, there had been some point in having this richly panelled room, with its portraits in heavily gilded frames, huge mahogany table, velvet upholstered chairs and deep red turkey carpet. Now, however, when the real power in the hospital had shifted from the consultants and the matron to administrators in a government-controlled office, the Board Room seemed somehow pretentious, an embarrassing reminder of loss of status, but despite this, the Royal retained its pride in the room. It gleamed with polish and loving care from the domestic supervisor’s own hands. Individuals might consider it an anachronism, might even think it would be better used as an office or an extra waiting room, but none had the heart to say so. They shared a corporate pride in the existence of the room, and really rather enjoyed using it on special occasions like today’s.

Even those consultants who professed themselves to be above interest in such a minor matter as nursing staff changes felt that today was special. A new matron, after twenty years, could mean big changes, changes that might affect the consultants, and it was worth making an effort to please Miss Manton, to make sure she was aware of her duty to please them. So, they were all there, even old Sir Peter, the Chief of Staff, who rarely came to the hospital for social occasions of this kind, only appearing at committee meetings, where he could remind his colleagues of his importance and undoubted
seniority.

Miss Manton timed her own appearance in the Board Room carefully. To have been too prompt would have been an embarrassment to those consultants who were late; to have been too dilatory would have been an insult. She came through the door at ten past eleven, holding her head high, her face carefully composed into an expression of alert and friendly interest, with an underlying hint of her realisation of her importance. She looked neither subservient nor overbearing, and the impression she gave to the men who turned to look at her was all she could have hoped it would be. She looked intelligent, capable and sufficiently attractive in a physical way to make one or two of them straighten their shoulders unconsciously.

Mr. Heston, the hospital Secretary, detached himself from a group of men by the tall windows and came hurrying across to greet her.

‘Miss Manton!’ His voice was rich and warm, practised in the art of public speaking, making him sound, even in direct conversation, as though he were presenting a report.

‘Miss Manton—good morning! I’m so glad you were able to join us here. I’m sure you must have a great deal to do, finding your way about your office this morning. We appreciate your preoccupations on your very first day at the Royal, I assure you. Now, may I introduce everyone? Mr. Jamieson, of course, you have met. He was one of the selection committee which so wisely appointed you. And may I present Sir Peter Jeffers, our Chief of Staff——’

He escorted her round the room, from handshake to handshake, and to each man she smiled, and where possible, made some sort of comment that showed she had done her homework well. A few of them had published papers in the medical journals, and Miss Manton had been at some pains to check on this, and to show them that she knew of their importance. She moved well, showing no awareness of their eyes following and assessing her, rather enjoying the slight nervousness deep inside her, enjoying her own performance.

The last man to whom she was introduced was the one of whom she had been most conscious the moment she had come into the room. She had realised, with a decided lift of her
spirits, that he too was very conscious of her. That was why he was the last to be introduced, why he had remained well in the background until the very last moment, and with her memories of his normal tendency to be in the van of whatever was happening, she was amused and gratified.

‘Dr. French,’ Mr. Heston said. ‘Our most recent addition to the Consultant Physician staff, Miss Manton——’

‘Well, well.’ James French smiled at her, crinkled his wide dark eyes. ‘I wondered, you know, when I heard your name, I wondered.’

He shook her hand, and then, not letting go, closed his other hand over it. ‘It’s been a long time.’

‘It has indeed,’ she said, and looked at him consideringly, noticing that age had improved his looks. He had been almost pretty five years before, with his crisply curling dark hair and square jaw, but now prosperity had blurred the lines of his face a little, giving him a look of solid success that changed mere beauty into a more interesting masculinity.

‘You’ve met before!’ Mr. Heston looked shrewdly from face to face, and then smiled, a triumphant old womanish grin. ‘How very interesting.’

‘Dr. French was on the staff of a hospital where I was working some years ago, Mr. Heston. It is indeed very pleasant to meet an old friend. I hope you are well—Dr. French,’ and she gave enough emphasis to the last two words to remind French that they had been on first-name terms once.

‘Well, well. I must leave you to talk of old times, then. Perhaps I can bring you some coffee——’ Heston went away to fetch coffee, and French released Elizabeth’s hand, and thrust his own into his trouser pockets.

There was a pause.

‘So, Elizabeth?’

‘So, James?’

‘I wondered, you know. But then I thought—no, it can’t be. Not
my
Elizabeth Manton. She must be married by now, with umpteen children clutching at her skirts.’

‘Oh, really, James! If you thought that, you must certainly have forgotten me very thoroughly.’

He laughed fatly. ‘Oh, far from it, far from it! I remember
you very well indeed. But it was certainly very possible that someone had changed your—inclinations. Women do change.’

‘Not me, James. I told you once before I was not the domestic type. I’m still not.’

‘But still a woman.’

She reddened very slightly. ‘Still a woman. That hasn’t changed. I doubt if it will—ah, coffee. Thank you, Mr. Heston.’

Heston took her away then, and she talked easily to various men, listening with interest to what they had to say, but never unaware of French, always conscious of his whereabouts in the room as she moved from group to group. She came back, after a decent interval, to stand beside him again.

‘It’s a remarkable coincidence that you should be appointed here, Elizabeth. That we should meet again after so long. I’ve been here a year now——’

‘I know.’

He looked sharply at her, and then smiled slowly.

‘Not entirely a coincidence, then?’

‘Not entirely.’

‘I see. I trust I—er—I’m not the only reason——’

‘Dear me, no. I felt ready for a matronship—I’ve been ready for two years or more. It was a question of choosing where I should apply. And when I saw this post advertised, and remembered seeing your own appointment in the
B.M.J.
, I thought it might be—pleasant—to know someone on the staff. You mustn’t flatter yourself unduly, James.’

‘Ouch.’ He produced a mock deprecatory smile, and they both laughed.

‘And how has the world treated you these last five years, James? Apart from this consultantship, that is?’

‘Well, let me see. I have a small private practice——’

‘That was inevitable!’

‘And why not? I like my creature comforts, and even consultants are underpaid in the N.H.S.’

‘It’s comparative,’ she murmured, with a sidelong glance that made him laugh again.

‘So I’m greedy! That hasn’t changed either!’

‘And what else?’

‘I married almost a year ago.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it. A man needs a wife, especially an ambitious man.’

‘Oh, lord! Was I that transparent when I knew you?’

‘Oh yes,’ she said calmly. ‘You were. I assumed you would marry. You were always a practical man. I hope you’re happy.’

‘Oh, very. Jennifer is a delightful person, delightful. You must meet her soon.’

‘I’d like to. Is it tactful to ask if you have a child yet?’

‘Oh, certainly you may ask. I haven’t. I have no particular urge to perpetuate the species, and Jennifer——’ he smiled. ‘Jennifer is happy to spend her entire effort caring for me.’

‘Comfortable.’

‘Extremely comfortable. I find my life pleasantly free of unnecessary complication.’

‘Some complications may be comfortable. Sometimes.’

He took her empty coffee cup from her, and looked at her consideringly. ‘You may be right. It depends on—circumstances.’

Sir Peter came hobbling across the room, Heston in his wake, and shook her hand with a flaccid grip.

‘Well, Matron, must go, must go. Not so young as I was, y’know. Got to keep to a routine, my age, and I want my lunch. Glad to have you here, glad to have you. Good morning, Miss Biggs, good morning,’ and he turned and went, leaving Heston, embarrassed for once, to apologise for his lapse of memory.

‘The old boy forgets the years sometimes, Miss Manton. You must forgive him——’